


In the Quiet Moments

by almostsophie1



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, Friendship/Love, Romance, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostsophie1/pseuds/almostsophie1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric would write about Fenris and Hawke in some overly romantic, disgustingly melodramatic fashion (much to Hawke's amusement and Fenris's ire).<br/>But for Hawke, it was in the quiet moments that she realized just how much she loved him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Over Porridge

 

            The pounding in her head felt like she’d just had a darkspawn shield rammed over her skull. She knew from experience.

            As Hawke struggled to open her eyes, yellow light filtering into her vision, she decided it was, in fact, _worse_ than a darkspawn shield inflicted concussion.

            This was quite possibly the most hung-over Hawke had been in her entire life.

            With a groan, she sat up. Squinting through her headache, she pressed fingers to her temples. She wasn’t on her own cot back in Lowtown.

            She was in Fenris’s room, though he was nowhere to be seen among all the moth-eaten furniture. But she’d somehow ended up in his bed, and not at all in the erotic sense considering she was still fully clothed.

            “Shit,” she mumbled through her cottonmouth. Why couldn’t she remember what happened last—

            Carver.

            Then she was keenly aware of the dull ache in her chest, and she closed her eyes again.

            She took Carver with her on the expedition, and then returned without him. His chances of surviving with the Grey Wardens were still so slim.

            The look on her mother’s face had been enough to send Hawke running out of the house and right to Fenris, asking with a forcedly casual grin if he wanted to drink with her.

            It had only taken two chipped glasses for her jester’s mask to slip, and Fenris listened quietly at her side as talking turned to swearing and crying.

            _I failed Carver, too._

            Hawke buried her face in her hands, exhaling through her nose. She should have left him in Kirkwall. She should have protected him better in the Deep Roads. She should have learned healing like Bethany instead of only training to burn and crumble everything she touched.

            Tears stung in her eyes, and she swung her legs over the side of the bed, pushing the luxurious yet slightly dusty red sheets out of the way.

            Crying wouldn't change anything now, and she’d surely done enough of it already.

            Hawke made a half-hearted attempt to straighten her robes, still squinting the morning brightness.

            At least, Hawke hoped it was morning.

            She needed to do something other than sit in bed and stare morosely into nothing while she wondered whether or not her baby brother—

            _Stop it,_ Hawke shook her head with a frown. _And where in the Maker’s name is Fenris?_ Hawke used the new line of thought as a distraction as she shuffled over to the bedroom door and opened it, the damp smell of the mansion stronger as she went down the stairs.

            “Anybody home? Or are the rats and I having a tea party by ourselves?” Hawke called, wincing slightly at the volume of her own scratchy voice.

            “You’d be disappointed to find there’s no tea available.” Fenris appeared in the archway to her left, wearing only a thin cream-colored shirt and black breeches.

            Hawke rarely saw Fenris out of his armor. She didn’t remember him taking it off at any point the night before, either. He looked much softer this way, though maybe it was the concern she could see written in the wrinkle above the proud bridge of his nose.

            He was always handsome, but seeing him without his usual spiky exterior felt intimate somehow.

            “Pass me the liquor and we’ll have a less sophisticated party right now,” Hawke replied with a smirk, doing her best not to sound pained from her throbbing headache.

            Fenris rolled his eyes and gave one of his disapproving-yet-amused grunts.

            “Whiskey and blueberry scones?” Hawke prompted innocently.

            He laughed then, and Hawke felt a genuine grin appear on her face.

            “I’m sorry I stole your bed for the night. Always feel free to dump me on the floor,” Hawke told him, wondering guiltily if he slept on the dirty stone since she took his sleeping spot.

            He shrugged off her apology. “The mattress in that room is far too soft for my liking. You are welcome to it.”

            Hawke arched an eyebrow. “Careful what you offer, Fenris, or I’ll be showing up here more often than you’d like. That squishy mattress was probably more comfortable than the Maker’s bosom.”

            Fenris snorted at her. “As for breakfast, there’s porridge in the kitchen. You are welcome to it.”

            Hawke wasn’t ready to go back to Lowtown to face the blame her mother threw at her or the pitying glances from her friends. Being with Fenris was almost like hiding in the lap of luxury.

            _If the lap of luxury came with blood stained floors and several inches of dust._

“Have you eaten yet?” Hawke brushed stray strands of dark hair out of her face.

            Fenris shook his head, and Hawke yawned before making her way to the kitchen with Fenris.

            The countertops were just as dusty as the rest of the house, and several broken plates and mugs littering the floor that Hawke had to step around.

            She made no comment on the mess. It was Fenris’s house to do as he pleased, and Hawke had yet to thank him for putting up with her last night and letting her stay over.

            They didn’t speak as Hawke moved around the kitchen. Fenris leaned against the wall, clearly watching her with continued worry etched in between his dark brows.

            There weren’t any clean bowls that Hawke could find, and the dining room seemed inconveniently far away. Hawke merely set the pot of porridge down on the counter that separated her from Fenris, and grabbed two slightly bent spoons.

            “Breakfast is served,” she announced, handing Fenris one of the spoons with a flourish.

            He took it with a snort, and they bent over the pot together, shoving extremely bland globs of porridge into their mouths.

            Silence was amicable with Fenris. Hawke usually filled the quiet with endless jokes, but there was something about the sun's gentle haze through the windows and the way it was shining on winter white hair that made Hawke appreciate the moment.

            The concern was still on his usually stoic face, even as he looked intently at the pot before him. He was truly worried about her.

            Hawke watched Fenris lower his hackles over the recent months around her. Even if it was just the way he let on he was amused at her jokes, or returned her banter, their relationship had changed. She couldn’t even remember the last time he’d referred to her as just ‘mage’. They were growing… closer.

            _Close enough_ , Hawke realized, _that of everywhere in Kirkwall I came here last night._

Her spoon hovered somewhere above the pot, and it was a rare moment that Jemma Hawke was at a loss for words as she took in the sight of him, slightly bowed shoulders and all.

            She now remembered more clearly her body-wracking sobbing in front of him. And she remembered, somewhere in the haze of tears and hiccups, that Fenris picked her up and carried her to the bed, tucking her into the sheets.

            Maybe her hackles, a mask of mirth rather than anger, had lowered as well.

            Fenris looked up from the pot, brilliant green eyes locking with her own. He frowned slightly as he seemed to realize she was staring. “If you desire something other than porridge—”

            “Thank you.”

            His frown deepened in confusion for a moment before his expression smoothed itself out. “It was nothing.”

            Hawke shook her head, finding herself giving him a small, unguarded smile. “It was everything.”

            She then dug her spoon back into the porridge as Fenris watched her closely.

            “Now, I believe I owe you two or three bottles of wine,” Hawke drawled after swallowing. “Can I convince you that we should replace them with harder stuff, or do I buy more grape juice?”


	2. Under Stars

            “I don’t need your help, abomination,” Fenris snarled, baring his teeth with a cold curl to his lips.

            Anders threw up his hands. “Fine—bleed out for all I care.” He looked at Hawke to add, “Don’t blame me when it happens. I tried.”

            Hawke sighed as Fenris continued to glower at Anders, and it was Varric who cleared his throat and said, “Now, now, kids, no need to get riled up. Why don’t we make camp for the night?”

            “Let’s do that,” Hawke agreed immediately, clapping her hands together once for good measure, startling Anders and provoking a disgruntled look from Fenris.

            The sun had set at least an hour before, leaving Hawke and the others on the Wounded Coast to deal with raiders in the dark. The last scuffle had resulted in a raider getting too close to Fenris and slicing his arm open. And of course, Fenris adamantly refused healing when Anders attempted to offer his help.

            Hawke could understand it. She’d asked Fenris about it before, and he’d muttered that magic made the lyrium sting. Though Hawke knew it seemed highly impractical at the moment, with red running down to his wrist as he held his sword-cleaning rag to the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding.

            “Camp it is,” Varric said, and Hawke reached over to pat Anders’s arm.

            Hawke let her heavy pack fall to the rocky ground, rolling her shoulders back enthusiastically. The air was warm, at least by her Ferelden standards, and smelled like sea salt. “Who doesn’t love a night on the Wounded Coast?” She asked brightly.

            “Me,” Anders replied immediately.

            Hawke snorted, watching Fenris from the corner of her eye as he kept the rag clasped over the gash and dropped his own bag.

            “I would suggest making a fire, but I have a feeling it would just bring us more unwanted company,” Varric said, glancing around in the relative darkness. It was nearly a full moon above. To one side was the vast coast, and to the other three directions only sparse trees were visible.

            Anders rubbed his forehead. “Hawke, did I really tell you that I wanted to come along to find the Harlot’s Bush Flower? I’m beginning to think it was a momentary lapse of judgment.”

            Hawke flashed him a grin as she yanked a thin blanket from her bag. “If it was, I’d encourage you to have more of them. Who needs good judgment when you can have pretty blue flowers to sell?” She plucked the flower in question from the bottom of her bag, its petals crushed and sagging, and brandished it.

            Varric snorted, and Fenris sighed as if Hawke were being particularly infuriating today.

            “Oh fine, you know we really came out here to find the Qunari patrol,” Hawke winked at Anders, who still appeared to be sulking, putting the flower in her bag again. “And hopefully we’ll find them tomorrow morning. If they don’t find us first, that is.”

            “Yes, there’s that,” Anders said dryly.

            Fenris, still holding his arm, mumbled in his typically low voice, “I’ll survey the area.”

            Hawke didn’t hesitate. “I’ll come with you.” She straightened, but not before nabbing a bandage from her bag.

            Anders opened his mouth to say something, but Varric cut him off before he got the chance. “If you see any raiders, tell them to wait until tomorrow morning to attack. Andraste’s ass, I’m tired.”

            “And Bianca needs her beauty sleep,” Hawke answered with a laugh.

            Fenris was already walking away, and Hawke hurried to catch up with him. He was moving parallel to the coast, the sword strapped to his back an indication that he didn’t actually think there were more raiders in the area.

            “Are you _really_ surveying the area?” Hawke asked as she caught up to him. They were on an incline up another rocky hill. “Or was this a ploy to get away from camp bonding-time?”

            Fenris gave Hawke and affronted look. “I would not _bond_ , as you put it, with the abomination under any circumstances.”

            Hawke wiggled her eyebrows as a breeze blew strands of hair around her face and made the smell of salt stronger. “I can think up some circumstances that involve rope, a little bit of lace, and—”

            “ _Venhedis_ , Hawke,” Fenris coughed, and Hawke was sure if there was more light, she would see the tips of his ears turn red. “You’ve spent far too much time with Isabela.”

            Hawke flashed him a grin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Speaking of bondage—”

            “ _Hawke._ ”

            Hawke laughed. It was the kind of laugh that she forgot she had sometimes, one that was genuine and full. Hawke came to a stop, and Fenris only made it one step further before halting as well, turning to look at her. Hawke held out the bandage she had crushed in her right hand. “It was just going to be a joke about bandaging, Fenris. No need to worry that I’ll make you blush,” she could still feel the amusement on her face, in her cheeks.

            Fenris grunted, either at her comment or at the bandage.

            “Here, let’s get you all _bondaged_ up,” Hawke said with the most straight face she could manage.

            It worked, Fenris’s lips twitching upward. “You have a penchant for terrible jokes, Hawke.”

            “It’s part of my charm,” Hawke replied shamelessly before gesturing to the edge of the hill, an overhang with a slightly drop to more rocks beneath. “How about sitting here so I can stop you from bleeding all over the place?”

            “I can do it myself.”

            Hawke tapped her chin with her free hand. “Can you? It seems like it’ll be hard to tie it off well with only one hand.”

            Fenris gave a pained sigh, but when Hawke took a step toward the ledge, he followed.

            Hawke unraveled the bandage as she sat, careful not to get to close to the edge. While she probably wouldn’t break anything from the fall, she didn’t want to try her luck. Fenris, however, swung his legs over the edge while eyeing Hawke closely.

            “I won’t use magic,” Hawke said quietly when she realized there was apprehension in his gaze. It’s not like she knew how to heal very well anyway.

            He blinked in surprise before glancing away, toward the coast. The moon was rising above them, illuminating the dark water below.

            Hawke scooted closer to him, still wary of the drop below, before squinting at the still bloody cut. “Do you want me to tie it off over your armor?” The thin leather strap running down the outside of his arm didn’t do much to protect the bare skin of his inner-arm where the raider had cut Fenris. “Actually, how about we get your armor off your arm so I can actually tie this off well?”

            “That would be practical.”

            Hawke nodded. “Very.”

            Fenris reached for the clasp that secured the leather strap around his elbow. There was a slight shake to his fingers, and Hawke squashed her initial desire to reach out to help him. But it was because his arm was slick that he couldn’t seem to undo the strap.

            _He’s lost a lot of blood,_ Hawke realized with a frown. “Exactly how deep is that cut, Fenris?”

            He continued to fumble with the clasp, ignoring her.

            Hawke only hesitated for a moment before saying, “Can I help before you bleed out on the Wounded Coast?" She knew Fenris wasn't fond of physical touch, but fortunately undoing armor clasps didn't require much of it. "I’m not strong enough to lug your body back to Anders so he can gloat over it and do a little ‘I told you so’ dance.”

            Fenris glared at her, but his voice betrayed some amusement as he responded, “I would not put it past the abomination.”

            “The gloating or the dancing? Because I have a feeling Anders might actually be a good dancer,” Hawke leaned forward, ignoring the unpleasant sensation of his blood, sticky on her fingers, as she fought with the clasp for a moment before detaching it. She tugged the gauntlet off, setting it behind her. “I can easily envision Anders frolicking about the clinic doing… what’s it called? Pir—pira—”

            “Pirouettes,” Fenris supplied, letting out a short laugh. 

            “Yes, pirouettes,” Hawke guffawed to herself and quickly began winding the bandage around his cut, maneuvering it under the leather that still hung down from his pauldron. She was trying to be efficient with her movements, not touching him more than necessary. “Do you need elfroot?”

            “No, this is more than enough.”

            Hawke gave an unconvinced hum in response, tying the bandage off neatly before taking the handkerchief her mother embroidered only a few days before and wiping the remaining blood from Fenris’s skin.

            It wasn’t until she took his hand to wipe the blood from his knuckles that she realized how tense Fenris was, and Hawke slowly raised her chin to see his expression.  _Is this making him uncomfortable?_

            It was unreadable, all hard lines and proud ridges.

            Hawke hadn’t realized just how intimate her positioning had become. She now held his hand with both of hers, her body angled toward his, her raised knee almost tucked into his chest. When she inhaled, she could smell the sweat and lyrium on his neck.

            “You have my thanks,” Fenris said, the sounds reverberating in his chest. His words were slightly stilted, but he made no move to pull away from Hawke. She'd seen him jerk away from Isabela, and flinch away from Sebastian's unexpected hand on his shoulder.  _Why isn't he moving now? And why do I not want him to?_

            “Mm.” Hawke gently let go of his hand, shifting slightly so she was sitting beside him rather than into him. She took a slow breath, it suddenly occurring to her that her heart was beating oddly in her chest.

            They sat in silence for a few moments before, much to Hawke’s surprise, Fenris spoke. “Do you know much of constellations?”

            Hawke’s brow furrowed as she thought about it, glad for a distraction. She wasn't one for overthinking things. “No, I don’t think I do. Only that there are tales about how certain stars are aligned.” She leaned back, stretching out against the thankfully smooth stone, the moss not doing much to cushion her head. “Do you know the stories behind them?”

            “Only some. That one,” Fenris pointed in the general direction of the sky, which Hawke could’ve figured out herself, “tells of a Princess and her lover.”

            Hawke stared up at the stars. “How do you know which one is which? Don’t you get all the shiny little dots mixed up?”

            Fenris chuckled, low and throaty. “Look,” he lay back with her now, and she could feel his injured arm brush against her sleeve. He pointed again with his good arm, and Hawke craned her neck to follow the line all the way to his fingertip. “There’s one bright star, bigger than any close to it. Then there are four little stars all in a row below.”

            “Four?” Hawke asked, honestly curious now. “I thought you said it was about a Princess and her lover?” She found the line of stars he was referring to—or at least she hoped she did.

            “There were three other suitors vying for her affections,” Fenris explained, letting his arm drop.

            Hawke let her head roll to the side so she could see his face. They had an easy companionship recently—as easy as it could be when they bickered about Kirkwall issues, mages and Templars. She was used to their hands brushing during games of Wicked Grace, or falling in step beside him while walking through Darktown.

            But this felt like much more, and Hawke wasn’t sure why.

            “Well, that's sounds like something,” Hawke remarked, the warmth from his arm against hers seeming to permeate through her. “A Princess and her four suitors?”

            “Three suitors,” Fenris corrected, his eyes still fixed on the stars. “It’s a Tevinter story. Her lover was a slave.”

            “I see.” Hawke watched him for several more moments with the painful reminder of the life that the man before her—the stubborn, beautiful man—had lived. "Is it a good story?"

            There was a breath and then, he asked, “Would you care to hear it?” His voice was deep, calloused, soft, and warm all at once.

            _I know why my heart was beating so quickly earlier,_ Hawke realized as it increased tempo again. She was known for flirting with men without meaning, for making ribald jokes and letting people assume she had more experience than she truly did, for not letting romantic entanglements get the better of her emotions.

            But she was merely lying side by side with Fenris on a quiet night beneath the stars, and she felt like her chest was about to burst.

            “I’d like that,” Hawke answered quietly, though she found she would rather look at him than the sky above.


	3. At Home

            It was cute that Sebastian thought Hawke couldn’t walk through town alone at night, but she turned down his offer with a wink and a grin though she really didn’t feel much like doing either.

            She was tired, and had been worried for the last five days.

            Fenris disappeared after their encounter with the slavers on the Storm Coast, and subsequent meeting with Hadriana. They didn’t exactly share tea and finger sandwiches, and the whole ordeal ended with Hadriana’s heart _literally_ on the floor and Hawke’s heart metaphorically in her throat as Fenris snapped out his disgust for mages and disappeared.

            Hawke hadn’t seen him since. So as Hawke made her way back through Hightown after Sebastian split off to return to the chantry, Hawke found her thoughts yet again occupied by the broody, beautiful elf.

            “Hey, sweetheart, won’t you give me a smile?” It was a noble—one of the neighbors that Hawke’s mother specifically instructed Hawke to be polite to. “That look’s got no place on a pretty face like yours.”

            She briefly considered setting his small-clothes on fire.

            _No, Hawke, think of what Mum would say._ Hawke sighed to herself as she opted to ignore the drunken idiot and continue on her way. Quite frankly, Hawke was growing tired of fighting people. Maybe it was the gruesomeness that Hawke had seen lately in Kirkwall, but all the death and gore was beginning to mix in new nightmares with the old.

            Though last night had been an atypical nightmare for the last several days. Instead of Fenris yanking Hadriana’s heart out, it was Hadriana standing over Fenris laughing as she ignited the lyrium in his veins.

            She didn’t want to lose anyone else.

            Not after Bethany. Not after Carver.

            She shook her head. At least Carver had made it to the Grey Wardens in time, though from his letters he wasn’t particularly thrilled about being part of the Order. _Not that Carver is particularly thrilled about anything, ever,_ Hawke snorted to herself.

            She was almost to the estate now, and she could see that the candle in Bodahn’s room was already out. He waited up for her in the first few weeks after he began working in the estate, but she’d since told him that crime never slept. And since Hawke was a criminal, she would probably be coming back later than expected. Her mother had gone off for the week to visit old Amell family friends, so at least Hawke didn’t have to worry about a scolding from her if she came back in the early hours of the morning or not at all.

            As much as Hawke was ready to be alone earlier in the night, she was almost dreading letting herself into a dark and silent house now. Perhaps it didn’t make sense, but she wanted to be alone _with_ someone.

            Up until five days ago, Fenris was that person.

            She was teaching him how to read, and she’d grown incredibly fond of the nights they’d sit together in front of the fireplace and take turns choosing books to read. Hawke’s favorites were always comical novels that Fenris found stupid, and Fenris’s favorites were stories of heroic knights and great battles. He was a fast learner, and Hawke was particularly happy about this as she loved the sound of his voice when he read out loud, roughness layered with silk.

            Hawke started up the steps to the estate, thinking of their last reading session before they’d gone to the Storm Coast. She’d caught him staring at her again, a warmth in his eyes that confirmed her growing suspicion that he felt the same way she did. After all, Hawke may have a face that drunks called pretty, but she was no heart-stopping, organ-enlarging beauty like Isabela. She was quite aware that though she was far from ugly, she was ordinary enough that no one would look at her with that much softness and _want_ unless they felt something.

            Hawke reached for the key in her pocket, her fingers digging through litter and lint while she instead thought of the last time her fingers had brushed against Fenris’s. He never flinched away from her touch now. Instead, he was often the one leaning towards her.

            _Oh, Maker, I hope he’s safe._

Another wave of exhaustion rolled through Hawke as she unlocked the door and pushed inside. She’d been waiting for him to choose her, not wanting to pressure him into being with her in any way. As a person who’d never had enough choices given to him before, she had to be sure it was completely his choice to act on his feelings. And while Hawke was very capable of charming her way around whoever and whatever (an incredibly useful skill for a lifelong apostate to acquire), she wanted Fenris to simply want her because she was, at the very core, a woman named Jemma Hawke.

            But maybe at this rate, she’d be waiting on him forever. Maybe he’d decided it was all too much and left for good.

            The thought sent a dragging sense of moroseness all the way down to her feet, and she found herself wondering if she should just sleep on the sofa, as stairs were too much of an effort to climb.

            It was dark save for an oil lamp sitting on an end table, and Hawke shut the door behind her while she let out a slow breath. Gathering the motivation to not just flop on the cushions beside her—

            “Fenris?” Hawke jumped slightly, startled to see the very person she was thinking of stand from the bench that sat at the base of the stairs. She was suddenly very, very awake.

            It was certainly him, hair wintry white even in the dim light, tattoos glowing slightly. “Hawke.” His voice was gruff as he moved toward her, his eyes watching the wood floors instead of meeting her own.

            “You’re alright?” Hawke asked immediately, rather than wondering why he was in her house so late and how long he had been waiting. “You _look_ like you’re all in one piece, but you might have bits missing that I just can’t see,” Hawke added, a lame attempt to inject levity into the situation as the shock of seeing him in her house faded.

            He stopped in front of her as she met him halfway across the hall and he finally looked at her, no usual low chuckle at her joke, only the ghost of a smile. “I lost no fingers,” he said quietly.

            “And all toes intact? Toes are important too,” Hawke said, now remembering to keep her voice down since Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana were likely sleeping on the second floor.

            That got closer to a real smile from him. “I am whole, Hawke.”

            “Good,” Hawke said quietly, searching his face for true signs that he was alright, not just in terms of fingers and toes or external bruises. “I was worried about you.”

            Fenris frowned slightly, his brows drawing together. “It was not my intention to make you worry. But I… I needed time. I have been thinking of what happened with Hadriana.”

            Hawke nodded slowly. “And what were your conclusions?”

            “I took out my anger on you. Undeservedly so.” Fenris raised an armored hand as if he were about to reach out to Hawke to touch her shoulder, but let it drop. “I’m sorry.”

            The last words caught Hawke by surprise, and she tilted her head as she looked at him. She hadn’t expected an apology, given how much he hated magic. But his words had hurt, and the apology soothed a part of her she didn’t realize she had been trying to heal. “I know how you feel about magic, Fenris. I can understand why you said it.”

            Fenris didn’t say anything for a few moments, leaving Hawke unable to do anything but wait for him to work through whatever he was thinking. “But what I feel about magic, Hawke,” Fenris finally said, his voice low, “is not how I feel about you.” He was looking away again, leaving Hawke to push hair away from her face. She had watched him learn to trust her although she was a mage, although she was a person with the same powers as those who had made his existence a living hell in Tevinter.

            “But you were angry and hurt.” Hawke confirmed quietly. Whatever he had done or thought about for the last few days, he seemed less at war with himself and the world now, though she could only begin to imagine the way his conversation with Hadriana would be gnawing at him on the inside. “What did you do after you left?”

            Fenris’s face darkened slightly. “I found slaver bands on the Storm Coast that night and killed them where they slept.”

            _Very healthy coping mechanisms,_ Hawke thought to herself, but she made no comment.

            “But more often I thought of Hadriana.”

            “Of what she said to you?”

            Fenris paused, as if mulling over her question for himself, turning away from Hawke and away from the oil lamp, which threw his features into darkness. “When I was a slave, she was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep.” He looked back at Hawke then, a twisted grimace marring his lips. “Because of her status, I was powerless to respond. And she knew it. The thought of her slipping out of my grasp then…” His grimace morphed into a simple frown. “I couldn’t let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

            Hawke hated killing people, and since she’d come to Kirkwall the death count only seemed to rise as everyone was so set on trying to murder her, her friends, or innocent people just trying to get by. Part of her had been horrified to watch Fenris rip out Hadriana’s heart, but part of her knew also she would never understand his past with her, or his pain. That didn’t stop her from trying to glean some idea of what was causing the rawness in his voice. “What is it you want to let go of?”

            It seemed to take Fenris off-guard again, and his dark brows pulled together. “Hate. All of this hate that I thought I’d gotten away from. But it dogs me no matter where I go.” He shook his head. “To feel it again, to know it was they who planted it inside me—it was too much to bear.”

            Hawke was silent for a moment, wondering if she could ask him to share it with her. If he would be willing to let her carry some of the weight of his past however she could.

            “Ah,” Fenris said, seeming to take her lack of response for something other than it was. “But I didn’t come here to burden you further.”

            He was starting to walk away, and Hawke reached out to him, hurrying to place her hand on his arm. “It’s not a burden.” _Of course he’s not, he’s the man you’ve been falling in love with for the past year,_ Hawke thought to herself as she found herself as her fingers curled gently around his arm, the cut of his armor allowing her to feel both cool leather and his warm skin.

            Fenris turned slowly, his eyes searching for something across her face. He moved closer to her, taking a step forward, and she didn’t back away.

            Her heart picked up in her chest. They stood chest to chest, her height emphasized as she had to tilt her chin up to see the beautiful green of his irises, though they were shadowed in the darkness of the estate hall.

            “Command me to go and I shall.” His voice sent a jolt through Hawke, electricity tingling over her skin at the deep, raw tone that punctuated his words.

            _Stay with me,_ everything inside Hawke insisted she say aloud. _Make the choice to be with me, Fenris._

            “You don’t need to leave.”

            His arms were around her, encircling her waist as his lips crashed down on hers, drowning her in the taste of wine and the smell of lyrium as his tongue swept through her mouth, tangling with her own as they stumbled back until Hawke found herself pressed into a wall. Her fingers grasped for purchase at his arms, curling around his biceps.

            She wasn’t thinking before, but her mind went into nothing but fireworks when he drew back from her lips only to begin kissing her neck, making her gasp into the silence of the hall around them.

            The noise seemed to work as an anchor, bringing Fenris back to her mouth as he kissed her again, and for a moment Hawke wondered if she was dreaming.

            Maybe she was, as he broke away suddenly. His hands were still on her hips, clawed armor careful not to dig into her skin as he watched her. He seemed every bit as out of breath as she was. But there was a vulnerability in his eyes, an uncertainty that made her try to focus. “I don’t know—”

            “What?” Hawke attempted to blink away the haze he had brought about with too-talented lips as she moved her right hand to his chest. She had no desire for his power to rip out hearts, but sometimes she wished that she could just hold his. _Say it, Fenris, just say it._

            “I came here to apologize.” His voice was hoarse now, almost too low to hear. “Do… do you want this?”

Hawke leaned up to kiss his cheek gently, fingers curling slightly on the hand she had over his heart. “ I want nothing more from you than you want to give.” _I want this, but only if you want it too._

            It was only two heartbeats before he murmured, “I want you.”

            Hawke grinned, genuine and bright, sliding her arms up to throw them loosely over the back of his neck and whispered into the dark house, “Thank the Maker for that.”


End file.
